


Coffee and Tea

by papercutperfect



Category: Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:45:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles' twin brother Wesley comes to visit, Erik is hit with the distinct impression that he isn't wanted.</p><p>[warning for slight twincest]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninemoons42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/gifts).



Coffee and Tea - Erik/Charles/Wesley [warning for slight twincest]

[For ninemoons42]

——

“Can I make you some tea?”

“I don’t drink tea.”

Amused blue-grey eyes flicked up beneath spiked lashes, observing the man currently leaning nonchalantly against the windowsill, “And you’re Charles Xavier’s brother?”

The guy, this Wesley Xavier, shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. Broader built than Charles, clear strength in the curve of muscled shoulders his thick sweater did nothing to hide. None of the soft, academic comfort that Erik had grown to love so much, “Charles drinks enough of that stuff for both of us.”

Erik smirked, nodding lightly in silent agreement. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he found out Charles’ blood to tea ratio was 50:50.

Wesley looked away, craning his neck to peer through the rain-streaked window. Charles was due home any moment, free from another long shift teaching genetics at NYU, and judging from the stiff lines of tension in the way Wesley drummed his fingers off his arm, the telepath couldn’t arrive a second too soon.

Erik had the distinct impression that Wesley didn’t like him one iota, if the cold entrance he received had anything to do with it; swinging open the door to find a man with Charles’ face stood there, twisted into an entirely un-Charles-like expression. Bright blue eyes narrowed to a deep scowl, and the man’s tight smile held an obvious hostile mockery. 

“So you’re the guy that’s fucking my brother.”

Erik had merely blinked in shocked stupor, remaining silent even as Wesley shoved past him into the apartment. American accent, badly stitched knife slashes criss-crossing his sweater, cocky resentment in his eyes. “You must be Wesley.”

15 minutes later and the guy’s attitude hadn’t much improved. Normally, Erik would have given as good as he got, a master at cold fronts and ignoring arrogant bastards such as this. But this was Charles’ brother, his twin; he had to play nice. Charles had warned Erik about Wesley once or twice, fondly recalling the time his brother had tried to shoot Charles’ ex in the leg, or beat up the weirdo neighbor that kept getting a little ‘too’ friendly whenever Charles shared the elevator with him. 

It wasn’t that Erik was intimidated by Wesley, of course not, he’d gladly go a few rounds with the uppity little bastard — no, it was the disappointment and weary sadness that would no doubt set deep in the lines of Charles’ face if he got home to find his brother and his lover locked in a fight to the death. Wesley was important to Charles, as important as Raven, and clearly it was Erik that needed to offer the olive branch here.

“Coffee, then?” Erik jerked his head in the direction of the espresso machine Charles had bought him for his birthday (which in itself should have shown how hard he was trying — no one was allowed to touch that machine except him). 

Wesley shook his head without turning away from the window, “I don’t drink caffeine. Makes me jittery. Sorry.”

Ah yes; the heart condition that wasn’t a heart condition. Erik nodded with gritted teeth, shrugged a shoulder, “Anything? I think we’ve got Orange juice in the fridge. Beer. Hot chocolate.”

Wesley finally glanced away from the window at that last suggestion, interest in the curve of his eyebrow. “You got that Turkish Delight flavored one?”

Erik snorted, “Charles lives here, remember. We’ve got enough flavors to open a store.”

Wesley offered the barest of smiles at that, pushing away from the window to slide onto a stool by the kitchen island. His eyes watched Erik closely as the man stretched up to cupboards, filled the kettle, bustled around doing useless things to distract himself from actually having to talk to Wesley.

The metallic jingle of keys in the door saved them from their icy silence, Charles nudging the door open with a hip, head buried in a book. Wesley leapt up from the stool, a proper smile tugging his lips.

“Either you’ve suddenly developed a taste for Turkish Delight hot chocolate, Erik, or my brother is here,” Charles looked up from his book, bright smile matching his twin’s beam for beam. Wesley moved forward, meeting Charles halfway in a tight embrace.

Silently, Erik observed them, the high red flush of his cheeks having nothing to do with the hot steam billowing from the kettle. This… this should not be as alluring as it was; this seeing double. Charles’ hair was longer than Wesley’s, though both held the same shades of chocolate and auburn and streaks of early grey. Both possessed the same cherry-stained lips, the same pale skin dusted with gold freckles. The exact same azure eyes with matching expressions of adoration as they laughed together, rapid-fire chatter Erik couldn’t keep up with. 

Another laugh, and Charles tugged Wesley back into his arms — and the sudden burn of Wesley’s heated glare over Charles’ shoulder took Erik’s breath away. A possessive hand on the nape of his brother’s neck, a challenging edge to the curl of Wesley’s lips as he locked eyes with Erik from the opposite side of the kitchen.

A crystal clear dare there, defiance, a claim. 

Erik shivered, narrowed his eyes in response. Smiled.

_Bring it on. ___


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hadn't intended to write another chapter of this at first, but since you guys asked so nicely... enjoy.
> 
> For ninemoons42, my gorgeous muse and enabler.

Needless to say, dinner was an excruciatingly awkward affair.

Charles happily offered to cook, much to both Erik and Wesley’s unified dismay, until they realised that ‘cook’ was merely a euphemism for ‘call the Chinese takeaway’.

It wasn’t that Charles was a particularly bad chef; quite the contrary, he was wonderful with pastries and bread, his cinnamon Churros enough to melt even Erik’s heart with one heavenly bite. The problem lay in the fact that he was incredibly accident prone. They’d had to call the fire brigade last week after a botched attempt at cooking a three course meal for Erik’s 30th birthday had turned into a scene from the Towering Inferno.

Setting out plates and grumpily unfolding a spare chair from the storage cupboard, Erik kept one close eye on Wesley as he filled a glass tumbler full of ice water. It was startling how similar the twins were in appearance, even with their vastly different hair and clothing styles. The same scattered freckles across their noses, 5 ‘o’ clock shadow of red scruff beneath their jaws. Both of them licked their lips far too often, which surely accounted for their constant cherry red stain. Even identical in the way their eyes scrunched up when dissolving into fits of laughter, giggling through cheeky and slightly lopsided smiles.

The only real difference was the look Wesley would shoot him whenever he met Erik’s eye, a cold stare that could curdle milk and turn a lesser man to stone. He’d never seen Charles make _that_ face before. When Charles was angry, he puffed out like an irate pigeon, eyes cold as the chilled burn of ice and lips pursed in contempt. Nothing quite as crazed, quite as _homicidal_ , as Wesley.

Wesley stuck annoyingly close to his twin, stealing the chair beside him at the dinner table and sitting practically shoulder to shoulder as Charles presented cartons of their delivered Chinese food. Erik sat heavily in the rickety spare chair and stabbed chopsticks into a glistening piece of Sweet and Sour Pork, eyes reduced to mere slits. Wesley returned the foul sentiment, gripping his own chopsticks like a dagger in one clenched fist.

“So what brings you to New York, Wes?” blissfully unaware of the silent fight raging between lover and brother, Charles expertly scooped up noodles, twirling them around his sticks.

Wesley shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, “Work.”

“Ah. Still in the bullet-bending assassination business?” Charles sucked a noodle past his smirking lips, sauce flicking a whiplash across his chin. Wesley snorted.

“Still in the stuffy old fart business?” he grinned when Charles nudged him in the arm with a gasp of mock indignation.

“I’m two minutes younger than you, my friend, don’t forget that.”

Wesley rolled his eyes playfully, “Like you would _let_ me forget.”

“Well, one does tend to lose their memory with old age,”

“Hey, you’re not too young to go over my knee,”

“Not before your take your arthritis medication,”

“Right, that’s it.”

Erik watched in wide-eyed disbelief as the two twins launched into the most violent tickling match he’d ever witnessed, noodles and Kung Pao Chicken flying across the table. Charles was surprisingly savage, almost catching Wesley in the face with his chopsticks before the other twin knocked them out of his hand. The brothers laughed and bickered, Erik and the meal seemingly forgotten.

Erik rolled his eyes and continued picking at his food as another spring roll deftly flew past his ear. Suspicion burned a hole in his stomach, the food in his mouth bitter; Wesley seemed to know exactly where to touch his brother to leave Charles squirming and violently swatting at him. Even the spot just to the side of Charles’ lower back, the one Erik had found when running lips and tongue down the curve of his spine during the first exploring months of their relationship. Charles had arched up, gasped, turned to grab at Erik’s necktie and yank him back to the top of the bed -- at least with Wesley, he was yelping and diving to take revenge on the man’s ribs instead of… well, the stuff he’d done to Erik.

Forcing himself to swallow the mouthful of thoroughly chewed Chinese food, Erik wearily dropped his chopsticks in the carton and stood up. Charles instantly turned to watch him, gripping Wesley’s wrists as they struggled toward his chest.

“Where’re you going?” blue eyes flicked over the half-eaten food, the sullen look on Erik’s face, brow creasing in concern, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Erik shrugged, tossed his food in the trash, “Just not hungry.” 

Charles fought off Wesley’s inching hands and stood up, chair scraping on the kitchen tiles. Long since sundown, sleepy lamplight cast yellow-orange shadows over the telepath’s face as he followed Erik’s stubborn strides to the sink.

“What’s wrong?” A comforting hand on the small of Erik’s back, soothing circles through shirt fabric, “We were only messing around. Join in next time; it’d be nice to have someone to hold Wes’ arms down for me.”

“Yeah, Erik, join in.” Wesley’s eyes suddenly beside them, flashing dangerously as he dropped his empty glass into the sink. Oh sure, join in and give Wesley the perfect excuse to punch him in the face or stab him with a chopstick. 

The second twin looked far too smug, almost feline as he slinked away with his hands in his pockets, flopping down onto the couch, “So where do I sleep?”

Erik couldn’t help his angry growl, his own glass falling with a tinkle of breaking glass.

**Erik: 0. Wesley: 1.**

They spent the evening watching reruns of Back to the Future, both Charles and Wesley’s favourite film. The three of them jammed onto their tiny IKEA couch, Charles firmly in the middle. 

The telepath soon settled his head on Erik’s shoulder, running idle fingertips up and down his lover’s arm. Wesley showed no interest in their actions, much to Erik’s annoyance -- until the twin proceeded to yawn the most false yawn in the history of false yawns and tip sideways to lay his own head on Charles’ knee, slinging both legs over the arm of the couch. 

Charles barely even noticed, his free hand scratching through Wesley’s short brown hair as the two of them laughed simultaneously at something on the screen. Erik could see nothing but red, sitting ramrod straight for the rest of the movie and trying to fight back the urge to smother Wesley with his cushion. 

He had his chance to even the score the moment the door to Erik and Charles’ bedroom snapped shut a few hours later. 

Heated kisses and burning touches became them practically tearing each other’s clothes off, Erik’s furious need bordering on desperation. A curious brush to the back of his mind was quickly dispelled as Erik nipped at the pulse point at Charles’ throat, causing the shorter man to gasp sharply and tip his head back for more.

_Do you know about that one, hm? Did you find that sweet spot in your fucking tickling matches?_

Charles chewed his lip against any noises trying to burst free from his chest, only incensing Erik further with his forced silence. He practically threw the man to the bed, pinned his arms to the mattress, licked and nipped and sucked until Charles was writhing the sheets into disarray, pushing firmly at Erik’s shoulders.

Erik looked up -- /what?/ -- only to see Charles holding a shaking finger to his lips, “Please, Erik, we need to be quiet. My brother will hear us.”

Like waving a red flag to a bull. Erik all but snorted, attacked Charles’ skin with increased fervour. 

He promised himself he’d go slow when finally buried inside, draw this out until Charles was screaming and begging, but of course, it didn’t turn out that way. Too tense with jealousy and rage to hold on, Charles’ back sliding further up the mattress with each pounding thrust, blue eyes drunk on pleasure and rolling back into his head.

_How about this one, Wesley? Bet you never hit this one._

Just as Charles’ gasps and half-bitten moans were starting to break, a loud thumping on the wall startled Erik from his concentration. They both paused, eyes snapping to the wall separating theirs from the guest room. A fist whacking from the other side, and Erik could almost see Wesley’s face scrunched in anger and -- yes, of course -- jealousy. 

_Good._

Charles winced, fingertips touching his forehead as if someone was yelling in there, which there probably was. Panting heavily, still shivering on that razor edge of release, Erik quirked an eyebrow with a curious, wolfish smile. Charles only rolled his eyes and grabbed his pillow, throwing it over his head to muffle his cries as Erik finished them off with gleeful abandon.

**Erik: 1. Wesley: 1.**


End file.
